


Sorry

by Fuckm3acha1nsaw



Series: The Scars on my Skin are Ours [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternative Perspective, F/F, Mental Hospital, One Shot, Past, Self-Harm, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, may’s childhood, skye’s shitty childhood, st.agnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 12:27:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13166913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuckm3acha1nsaw/pseuds/Fuckm3acha1nsaw
Summary: They both suck at relationships, but maybe they can suck together.TRIGGER WARNING:Self harmMight turn it into a series*This is an old fic that I cleaned up and rewrote





	Sorry

**SKYE**

Skye, or Mary at the time since it was the name that was given to her, was positive she didn’t have a soulmate. There was no way to positively know, really. If you never got any marks on your skin that weren’t yours that could just mean the universe hadn’t assigned you a mate yet, or that they weren’t clumsy and didn’t want to write back. 

 

Nobody ever wrote Mary back. Sure sometimes she would wonder how she got a bruise, but at the orphanage everyone got bruises. And, she was just clumsy in general. Nonetheless, Mary did take satisfaction in the thought that if her soulmate had decided to ignore her, then at least they would have all the bruises she did. She even went through a phase where she drew a dick on her arm every day for a month, until the nuns saw and gave her a beating for offending their ‘good christian household.’ She used that same mentality for every slit she made on her thighs when no one was looking.

 

It wasn’t until she was seventeen that she saw something that even she couldn’t convince herself it was hers. She woke up one day with a dark red gash in her upper arm. It couldn’t physically hurt, naturally, but it was so graphic that just looking at it made her wince. 

 

After hours of debate, Spike- she was experimenting with new names- decided that she would write just under the gash.  _ So you do exist after all.  _ And left it there, hoping to invoke a conversation, but she still got nothing. Out of pettiness, she increased how much she would cut herself and got more bold with the locations, close to her arteries, her rib cage, under her breast, her wrists. 

 

She was mad. Ever Since she was little she was holding onto the thought that there was at least one person out there that was going to want her, love her even, no matter how much she fucked up. That thought, no that  _ hope,  _ was the only reason she survived her childhood. The only reason she didn’t give up. 

 

In her early teens, she accepted that she didn’t have a soulmate after years of writing all over herself everyday and praying for a response, and she figured it made sense. Why would one person have to be destined to love her. But finding out that after all this time, that her  _ soulmate  _ just chose to ignore her, it made her furious. She wanted her soulmate to feel her pain. She wanted to hurt them but, she could only hurt herself. And that she did. 

 

Finally, one day she was about to cut at her wrist when she saw writing in the neatest print in the world.  _ Stop hurting yourself.  _ This was supposed to make Spike feel better, but it didn’t. Not even in the slightest. All the brunette could think about was how the only time her soulmate bothered to acknowledge her was when their link was marking her up. 

 

Once again, she was petty. She carved over the beautiful writing until it was consumed by an oozing gash, but this time she was so consumed by her hate that she didn’t know how deep she cut until it was too late.  She grabbed her pillow and shoved it atop her wrist. She instantly regretted everything and she tried to cling to her reality when the searing pain settled in and black spots clouded 90% of her vision. She slowly passed out on the floor before her bed.

 

The next time she had woken up, she was on a white bed in the psych ward of a hospital. 

 

She almost died. 

 

If one of her friends hadn’t walked in when they did, she probably wouldn’t have made it. The orphanage couldn’t afford to take care of her medical bills and by the time she would have gotten out of the mental hospital she was being sent to, her 18th ‘birthday’ would have already passed so they let her go. It was kind of like a special circumstances emancipation. She would get money from the government until she was 19 and financial aid if she chose to pursue college.

 

The mental hospital wasn’t as bad as she thought it would be. It was one of the shittiest mental hospitals out there, but she did meat Miles and they became as thick as thieves. He actually got out a month earlier than her, yet waited for her. Then he taught her everything she knew about hacking. Her need to find her parents outweighed her need to find her soulmate.

 

While she was in the hospital though, guilt ate her from the inside out. Her soulmate probably thought she was dead. She couldn’t get her hands on a pen, sharpie, or anything really. Kids found ways to hurt themselves with anything these days. The best they gave her was supervised use of a crayon for arts and crafts. Once again, it was a pretty shitty hospital. But, there was one therapist there that she didn’t hate and everything had gotten to clean up her act, even if it was just for the sake of being free.

 

The second she was free, she saw a purple pen laying on the ground and picked it up immediately.Then she, in her best handwriting, spelled out  _ SORRY  _ directly over the slowly fading scar. Then she put the pen in her pocket and went off to go van shopping with MIles. 

 

Later, when the two were settling in to their new home, Skye- she finally found a name that fit- saw that her soulmate traced over her purple  _ SORRY  _ in a blue sharpie.

 

Skye smiled at the message and found that it gave her the perspective to let go of all the hate she had been holding onto.

  
  


**MAY**

 

Melinda May had an intense childhood. Ever since she was a child, she was drawn to athletic activities. How she went from figure skating at the age of seven to a deadly superagent at the age of twenty is a mystery to most.

 

Her mother had always pushed her, leaving no time for her to do anything but excel at life. When her  mother shared her adamant opinion that she didn’t want May to become an agent, that’s exactly what she did.

 

She always heard adults speaking of regrets they made, the majority of them relating to soulmates. In May’s sophisticated childbrain, she decided the best way to get out of this was by not interacting with her soulmate at all. 

 

Though this silly notion was not one that stuck, its effect did. Honestly, the agent believed she had  no soulmate for the entirety of her childhood because her body did not show even the slightest indication of a soulmate until she was 17.

 

Around the age of 17, Melinda noticed bruises and marks that were possibly her soulmate’s but she had no way to prove it. She didn’t dare to ask though. 

 

She didn’t want hope. 

 

Once she was 22, soon-to-be Agent May saw writing on her arms. Though they were very insistent, May’s sole focus was preparing herself for the academy exams. She couldn’t afford distractions. But, that didn’t stop her from wondering about her soulmate everytime she got wounded.

 

At the age of 23, May was fed up with having to put makeup over dick drawings everyday and came to the conclusion that her soulmate was an adolescent brat. 

 

At the Age of 24, May started to notice all the cuts. She convinced herself they weren’t self-harm for the longest time but she wasn’t naive enough to believe herself. Than still didn’t stop her for denying it though. 

 

At the age of 28, the agent had no choice but to acknowledge the self-harm. It was becoming more bold and frequent. May wasn’t dumb, she knew why. She saw what her soulmate had written through the link, under her stab wound. She knew she should have replied, that this ridiculous silent game between them had gone on long enough. But, she still chose to ignore it because Bahrain. 

 

She didn’t deserve a soulmate and her soulmate didn’t deserve her. Everytime she would consider sending a message through the link, her mind would ask her,  _ I wonder if the innocent child I murdered had a soulmate  _ and she would fall back into depression, so she stopped thinking about her soulmate all together. 

 

Well, she tried at least. It came back to the fact that she saw vertical and horizontal gashes all over her body, each growing more bold and frequent by the day. It had to stop. This girl was going to kill herself. Through an impulsive thought, she wrote   _ Stop hurting yourself  _ as neat as she could above the most recent cuts on the girl’s forearm. 

 

Later that day when she was showering, she saw the violent new gash where her writing was. The ex-agent melted into a puddle of sobs as she let the harsh, steaming water rain down on her. Even though the wound was two dimensional, she could tell it was the deepest one yet.

 

And it was right above an artery.

 

She prayed to see another cut. She prayed for evidence the girl was alive. She prayed that she hadn’t caused another death. She prayed to every god out there, none of which she believed in.

 

After a week of nothing she accepted that she killed, no,  _ murdered _ another innocent soul. She didn’t dare to ask, after all the first and last time she wrote something didn’t end well. She spiraled  back into the crippling depression she was finally crawling out of and lost all hope in herself.

 

On a bright afternoon in spring, May rolled up her sleeves and saw the single best thing she had in years. 

 

_ SORRY _

 

And it was right above the now fading, unforgettable scar in a bright purple color. May bolted inside and grabbed the first marker she could find and traced the one word that single handedly gave her the inspiration to crawl out of the hole of depression she dug herself into. In the blue sharpie she found on her office desk she wrote over it with her own  _ SORRY.  _

 

Sorry was one word, a word that provided no context but somehow, the two perfectly understood one another.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please share any criticism. 
> 
> Also, let me know if i should turn this into a series. I'm thinking about it but I kinda already got this out of my system but I've got my head stuck in a different Skye/May fic right now that I haven't released yet.


End file.
